His most loyal, his most faithful servant
by Possum132
Summary: Harry Potter and Severus Snape are enjoying a quiet drink in the sitting room at Spinner's End, when by the prickling of my thumbs something wicked this way comes. Follow up to That is a matter between Severus Snape and myself.
1. Severus Snape

**His most loyal, his most faithful servant**

_I said that I wouldn't continue the series, but I couldn't resist taking my version of the Tale of Three Half-Bloods another step further - and giving every character their worst nightmare._

_This story may not make a lot of sense unless you already know all of Snape's dirty secrets._

**Chapter 1: Severus Snape**

He's disappointed his master, he still doesn't know where Helga Hufflepuff's cup is hidden, he still doesn't have the information that his master needs - and his master is angry. The vivid green eyes have suddenly turned to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils, he knows that he's in for the mother of all beatings, so he drops to his knees, kisses his master's robes, trembling and whimpering, "Master, I tried, I tried, do not punish me …"

But his master won't be placated, his master is raising his wand - and it feels as if every nerve of his body is on fire, the _crucio _hurts so much, the pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that he no longer knows where he is, he opens his mouth to scream ...

And then he'd woken with a start, shaking and shivering despite the fake coal fire burning in front of the blocked-up fireplace, and groping at his left forearm - but the Dark Mark wasn't burning and he wasn't in that dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles, he was curled up in the scruffy old armchair in his own sitting room at Spinner's End. So it was only a dream, but even in dreams you never really get used to the Cruciatus Curse, fucking hell, it _hurts_, so he'd reached for the half-empty bottle of firewhisky - firewhisky is the best palliative, chocolate for Dementors, firewhisky for _crucio_ …

He'd tipped most of the rest of the bottle down his throat but it hadn't been enough to settle his nerves because that was a really nasty dream, a really disturbing dream, so he'd pulled out a pack of cigarettes from the carton stashed in the bookshelves behind his armchair and lit one. OK, OK, he'd told Potter that he was going to cut down on his smoking, but it's been a long hard day and it's shaping up to be a sleepless night, and he'd really needed a fag.

He'd drawn hungrily on the cigarette – sweet Merlin that was doing him _good_ – and then he'd fumbled for the TV remote. A Muggle amusement, and the Dark Lord can get really weird about his Dark wizards messing about with Muggle stuff, but he doesn't have to worry any more about Wormtail running to the Dark Lord and telling tales that might get him, Severus Snape, into trouble – the rat had made his appointment with the Grim Squeaker the moment that he'd gone to the Dark Lord and tried to beg off the Azkaban mission. The Dark Lord had been furious that the cowardly little sneak feared the Aurors more than he feared his master's anger - and how stupid must Pettigrew have been, not to realise that he had at least some chance of surviving the firefight with the Azkaban garrison, and no chance at all of surviving the loss of the Dark Lord's protection?

He'd settled back in the armchair, turned the TV on - not that there's likely to be anything good on at this hour of the night, but anything to get his mind off that horrible dream - and Pettigrew was a distraction, too. It had been execution, not murder - he'd done the job that Lupin and Black had been too gutless to do in the Shrieking Shack - but vengeance had been very sweet, he hadn't given Pettigrew the dignity of dying like a man, he'd killed Wormtail in his Animagus form, and it hadn't been a pretty way to die, either. No, it hadn't been pretty – he'd used the eviscerating potion from _Moste Potent Potions_, simple but effective, and a fitting way to kill the vermin, because a rat can't vomit, that's why the Muggles use rats for their nasty experiments. Dumbledore wouldn't have liked what he'd done to Pettigrew, but Harry Potter isn't Dumbledore, is he? And he'd saved a little memento for Harry, a little coming-of-age gift ...

Remembering how Pettigrew had squeaked and struggled when he realized what was being forced down his throat, he'd thought, the rat would have been better off taking his chances in the Azkaban mission alright, because the Azkaban raid had gone exactly as planned. It had been an excellent opportunity to blood the new recruits, to teach them what real duelling was like - and a dress rehearsal for when the time comes to storm the Ministry of Magic itself. Of course they'd suffered casualties, but no more than the Dark Lord expected, no more than the Dark Lord was prepared to accept, because breaking Azkaban open is about more than freeing the Death Eaters captured in the Department of Mysteries, it's about open defiance of the Ministry, sending the message that it's war now, not just terrorism.

Yes, the Azkaban mission had gone very well, even his special orders regarding Lucius Malfoy. He'd been dreading that, but Lucius had made it easy for him, Lucius had known what was coming as soon as he'd smashed in the door of the cell. He'd whispered into Lucius' ear that Draco still lives, as a last act of kindness to his old friend he'd told Lucius that Draco isn't dead, he's only sleeping in his coffin, dosed with the Draught of Living Death - and there he'll stay, safe from the Aurors, the Order and the Dark Lord until it's all over, until the prophecy is fulfilled. And then he'd said the words that had stopped Lucius' heart – and it hadn't hurt at all, he'd been as high as a kite on adrenaline and the afterglow of _Avada Kedavra_ and he hadn't felt a thing. No, he hadn't felt a thing, but afterwards it was all a bit of a blur, he'd really let himself go - the Dark Lord's instructions had been to leave nothing alive on the island of Azkaban, to kill all the ordinary prisoners as well as the guards, and he'd been like a fox in a henhouse, slashing and snapping until nothing was left alive to flutter and squawk.

Remembering that, he'd frowned – when the fog had cleared, he'd been furious with himself for losing control, and he won't be making that mistake again, he needs to have his wits about him at all times - but the raid on Azkaban had gone like clockwork and the Dark Lord had been pleased, the Dark Lord had praised and rewarded him. But while Bella lives the Dark Lord won't share the secrets of the Horcruxes with any other servant, and that was always one of the sticking points in the Headmaster's plan, because even after he'd fulfilled the Unbreakable Vow that psycho bitch Bellatrix Lestrange would still stand between him and being entrusted with the Dark Lord's most precious secrets.

Yes, Bellatrix Lestrange is the problem, the obstacle that until today he hasn't been able to see his way through, because Bella is one of the martyrs, one of the faithful few who went to Azkaban rather than renounce the Dark Lord. And they both have jobs to do; his job is to train up the Dark Lord's army; hers is to hunt Harry Potter, and he dare not kill her until she's failed in her task. But the Dark Lord is getting impatient, Bella hadn't exactly distinguished herself in Little Whinging or at the Burrow, and today the Dark Lord had made his displeasure with Bella clear - she'd bungled Moody's interrogation, and the Dark Lord hadn't been impressed. No, the Dark Lord hadn't been impressed, and he'd been annoyed when Bella had played the Prisoner of Azkaban card yet again - really annoyed. And they'd all understood what it meant, Bellatrix Lestrange is falling from favour and if she fails the Dark Lord again, the Dark Lord will look the other way while the rivalry between his right-hand man and his right-hand woman is resolved, one way or the other.

He'd stayed calm when Moody was brought in for questioning, because if he was going to lose his head in every crisis, how long would he have lasted as a double-agent? Not that the situation wasn't serious, it was deadly serious, because Moody was a real prize, Dumbledore's replacement as the leader of the Order. And Moody had valuable information, priceless information, Moody was one of a very small number of people who know that he serves two masters, and Moody knew the location of the safe house where Harry Potter and his friends were hidden - information that not even he had, because you can't tell what you don't know. But it was a situation that he was well prepared for, it was a scenario he'd run over in his mind a dozen times, and he'd long ago decided on his plan of action. If Moody cracks under interrogation, if it looks like Moody will betray Harry Potter, he'll kill Moody before he can talk and then the snake Horcrux if he can - and after that it doesn't matter, because he won't be of any further use to the Chosen One.

But he'd been confident that there was no real danger unless the Dark Lord decided to interrogate Moody himself, and Moody was Bella's prisoner, all things being equal it was Bella's privilege to question him. So he'd merely slipped his hand into his robes, grasped the handle of his wand, and settled back to watch the fun, alert but not alarmed, because Bella hasn't learned a thing from the Longbottom fiasco, she still doesn't appreciate that really effective interrogation requires a skilful cocktail of pain, humiliation, Veritaserum and Legilimency. Oh, the Cruciatus Curse hurts, he'd never deny _that_, but it would kill a tough-minded bastard like Moody before it broke him, and Moody wouldn't last more than a few minutes anyway, sure, he was a powerful wizard, but he wasn't young – and old people never last long under crucio.

He'd watched while Bella crucioed Moody again and again, and all she'd got was screams and swear-words, and finally just screams - while the Dark Lord looked increasingly pissed off. He'd actually been a little bit regretful, which surprised him, because he has his own history with Alastor Moody, his own reasons to hate the son-of-a-bitch – but bastard though Moody was, he'd rather deal with him than with a weak sister like Lupin.

And then the Dark Lord had raised his hand, gestured to Bella to step back - and he'd been ready for the worst, because while Moody knew something of Occlumency, he hadn't the skills to keep the Dark Lord out of his mind, even if he wasn't a shaking, bleeding, moaning heap on the ground. But the Dark Lord had beckoned to _him_, and he'd understood at once what was going on, the Dark Lord was giving him the opportunity to publicly humiliate his rival – and Bella had made the mistake of protesting! The stupid cow had ranted on about Moody being the one who'd arrested her and her little gang, and being entitled to revenge for all those years in Azkaban - and she hadn't shut up until the Dark Lord raised his wand.

He'd looked into Moody's eyes – eye – and he'd rummaged through the tattered fragments of Moody's mind, looking for something to offer up to the Dark Lord, something good - and when he'd found that Moody had managed to send a message to Harry Potter before he was hit with a stunning spell, a message to get out of the safe house, _get out now, don't ask any questions, just get out_ – he'd given the Dark Lord the address of the place. He'd known that he was risking the life of the Chosen One, but he wouldn't still be alive if he couldn't make that kind of decision in a split second - and the gamble had paid off, because even though the birds had flown by the time that they'd raided the nest, his credit with the Dark Lord has never been higher.

But there'd been a price to pay, he's got the entire Gryffindor brat pack sleeping under his roof, it was completely, utterly insane, but he couldn't think of anywhere else where they'd be safe tonight – if they are safe, because Harry Potter won't be safe until the prophecy is fulfilled, and even now it's just possible that the Dark Lord knows where his true loyalties lie, it's just possible that the Dark Lord is stringing him along, using him to get to Harry Potter ...

He hadn't cared so much about Harry seeing the Muggle dump that he was raised in, because Harry Potter knows all of his dirty secrets, but the Weasleys are pure-bloods, the Weasley line is as old and as pure as the Malfoys', and Granger's parents are dentists, professional people, Muggles with money - and for a moment he'd felt self-conscious about his discoloured, uneven teeth. He'd felt like a teenager again, acutely aware of his crooked teeth, greasy hair and shabby robes, and desperately afraid of anyone finding out about his Muggle father, because a half-blood is only one step up from a filthy Mudblood.

The whole of the wizarding world knows about his Muggle father now - the _Daily Prophet_ had wallowed in that delicious little tidbit - and it's something he can use against Bella, it's something he can use to goad her, to provoke her into making a fool of herself, because Bellatrix Lestrange's star is fading, and if she shows herself to be too unstable to make a useful servant, the Dark Lord will discard her. The Dark Lord values no one, cares for no one, and if Bella disappoints her master again, she's going to find out that the Dark Lord is a "but what have you done for me _lately?_" kind of guy.

There'd been a time when he'd almost felt sorry for the poor deluded cow, but not now - and he couldn't stop his fingers flexing with rage when he'd remembered how Bella had taunted him on the night he'd taken the Unbreakable Vow, _the usual empty words, the usual slithering out of action_, he'd taken the Vow to shut the crazy bitch up, but it was only supposed to be to watch over Draco and to protect him. Well, there's no slithering out of action now, he's been off the leash since Dumbledore died, and if he gets the chance maybe he'll do it the Muggle way, wrap his hands around her throat and press his thumbs against her windpipe until she thrashes and chokes. And if he kills her with magic, it won't be _Avada Kedavra_, that's quick and maybe even painless, and it doesn't leave a mark, no, he'll use something that will really make a mess of the pure-blood princess. He might use his own curse, _Sectumsempra, for enemies_, if he holds his wand against her throat that curse is powerful enough to slice her head off - or he might kill her the way that he killed her cousin Regulus, give her a traitor's death, use the Cruciatus Curse to hurt her so much that the convulsions will break bones, rupture internal organs, and made blood pour out of every orifice ...

Hell's bells, it was giving him a hard-on just imagining what he'll do to Bellatrix Lestrange if he can, she deserves it, the evil fucking bitch, if she hadn't interfered, if she hadn't come with Narcissa that night ...

But the thought of Narcissa Malfoy had cooled his blood immediately, poor bloody Narcissa, the Dark Lord knew very well that he'd lusted for years after his best friend's wife, and when he'd returned in triumph from Azkaban the Dark Lord had been minded to be generous. The Dark Lord made it clear to them all that when the Dark Lord has won, when the Dark Lord is Minister for Magic, the half-blood Prince will be rewarded - he can help himself to anything of Lucius Malfoy's that he wants, and that includes Lucius' beautiful widow.

Shit, he did _not_ want to think about the Dark Lord's gift right now, so he'd finished off the dregs of the firewhisky - cheap stuff, but it does the job - and flicked around the channels until he'd found a repeat of one of those BBC wildlife documentaries that he likes, but he'd hardly settled down to enjoy the soothing, mellow voice of the silver-haired old Muggle presenting the program and the engrossing images of the giant black and white porpoises surging through the surf and snatching baby seals off the beach, when a door in the book-lined wall had swung open - and there was Harry Potter, in flannel pyjamas a size too small for him, mumbling something about _couldn't sleep_, and _if you don't mind_.

Well of course he bloody well minded! But he'd kept his mouth shut, because he watches his tongue around Harry Potter now. Before he knew what the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal meant, he'd thought Potter weak, spoiled, undisciplined, unworthy of his mother's sacrifice and unworthy of Dumbledore's sacrifice; he'd been furious that the Headmaster put so much faith in a gormless teenager who couldn't even cast an Unforgivable, and in his rage and disappointment he'd taunted the boy, _no Unforgivable Curses from you, Potter, you haven't got the nerve or the ability_ - but now he knows better, and he minds his manners around the Chosen One.

And if he was in the habit of feeling sorry for people, he might even feel a little bit sorry for Harry, because they're both in the same mess, really. They've both been marked by the Dark Lord, and if Rufus Scrimgeour finds out what Harry Potter is, if the Minister for Magic finds out that Harry shares his soul with the Dark Lord, Harry Potter won't be the hope of the wizarding world any longer - he'll bump Severus Snape off second place in the list of the most wanted wizards in Britain.

So now he's hunched in his armchair, intensely conscious of Harry Potter perched on the edge of the threadbare old couch, while that nasty dream churns around in his head again. And it's not as if he doesn't have plenty of nasty dreams, so why is he getting so churned up?

But he knows the answer to that question, because anything to do with Harry Potter churns him up - he'd always hated James Potter's arrogant brat, but since the encounter with his Boggart in the kitchen of 12 Grimmauld Place, he's not sure how he feels about Lily's son. The Boggart had taken the form of the Dark Lord, and he'd been taken completely by surprise because his Boggart had been a werewolf for so long he'd never thought that it could change. He'd been so shattered when the Dark Lord stepped out of Kreacher's grimy little cupboard that he'd lost his head completely, he'd done nothing more useful than stand between Harry and the Dark Lord - and the boy had tried to save _him_, he'd been prepared to take on the Dark Lord for the sake of the wizard who'd gone running to the Dark Lord with the news of the prophecy and who'd killed Dumbledore in front of his eyes! Not that it meant anything, it was just the usual brainless Gryffindor heroics – and the kid has got to be trained out of that kind of stupidity, Harry has got to learn that he's the weapon against the Dark Lord and he can't let anything or anyone get in the way of fulfilling the prophecy, not even Ginny Weasley.

And the Dark Lord has plans for Ginny Weasley if he can lay hands on her, the Dark Lord is very interested in the little girl who so nearly had the life sucked out of her by the diary Horcrux, and who's grown up to be Harry Potter's biggest weakness - because Harry is so much in love with beautiful, talented, spirited Ginevra Weasley that it's painful to watch.

Love! Dumbledore was always banging on about how the Dark Lord didn't understand the power of love, but Dumbledore didn't understand the power of hate. Oh, sure, he'd loved Lily - and he's not ashamed to admit it, she'd been one of the few good things in his life – and he'd loved Dumbledore, too, but he wasn't spying on the Dark Lord because of love, he wasn't spying on the Dark Lord because he was a good person, he was spying on the Dark Lord because he hated the Dark Lord, and he'd told Potter so. And Harry Potter knows what he is, knows what he's done, what he's _enjoyed_ doing - so why Harry would want to spend one unnecessary minute in his company, he can't understand.

Harry is avoiding his eye, pretending to be engrossed in the flickering images on the Muggle box, he knows that something is bothering the kid though he can't tell what it is. And the boy looks like he could really use a drink, so although normally he doesn't use magic at Spinner's End - the house is warded to hide magic but every use of magic requires the wards to be replenished - he Summons a bottle of the elf-made wine and a couple of glasses, bugger the no-magic rule, it's his own rule and he can break it.

He watches Harry sip his wine, and he can't stop himself from brooding over that damned dream again – it has to mean something, the mind is a complex and many-layered thing and that dream had come drifting up from somewhere ... he'd dreamed of Harry Potter casting an Unforgivable, and that had to mean _something_.

And then he knows what that dream means, the boy is fated to be the Dark Lord's executioner – or to die at the Dark Lord's hands - Harry will have _the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_, but Harry's got to start somewhere, and there's much, much more to casting the Unforgivable Curses than just pointing your wand and saying the words. Like all powerful spells, they need training, they need practice - so why didn't Moody teach Harry the Unforgivables? True, the Headmaster had been against it, but Moody wasn't squeamish, he'd used the Unforgivables himself - so why the hell hadn't he taught Harry? Maybe not the Cruciatus Curse or the Imperius Curse, but when the Horcruxes have been destroyed and the Dark Lord is mortal again, Harry is going to need the Killing Curse just to get near the Dark Lord. The Dark Lord doesn't play fair, he'll sacrifice his servants without hesitation, and the Chosen One is going to have to step over the bodies of a dozen Death Eaters before he even gets close to the Dark Lord.

He can only see Harry's face in profile, and without eye contact he can't see the boy's thoughts, but surely the kid must know what he'll have to do to fulfil the prophecy? Harry isn't an idiot, he must know that it isn't going to be a wizards' duel, _cast your first spells on the count of three_, it's going to be a dirty, messy job – and Harry is going to need every spell known to the Dark Lord, he's going to have to turn the Dark Lord's own weapons against him ...

So although he doesn't really relish the job, he leans forward, pours Harry another glass of wine, and catches his eye. And when he's got Harry's attention, he makes the little speech about the theoretical basis of the Killing Curse that he makes to all the raw recruits who've never used it, tells him, "The Killing Curse is comparable to the Patronus Charm. The Patronus requires you to concentrate on a single, very happy memory, and conversely, the _Avada Kedavra_ requires you to concentrate on a memory that inspires hate and anger, to _focus_ such a memory. You really _need_ to mean it, you must really _want_ to kill."

Then he watches for the memories that Harry could use, and there's plenty to choose from, Lily pleading, "_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything ..."_, Cedric Diggory whispering, "Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents ...", the look of fear and surprise on the wasted face of Sirius Black as he sinks through the ragged veil hanging from the archway - and then he looks away, because he doesn't want to see any more, he doesn't want to see Dumbledore being blasted into the air, hanging suspended beneath the _Morsmordre_, and then falling slowly backwards over the battlements like a great rag doll ...

And there's something else he ought to tell Harry Potter, though he shrinks from it - the _Avada Kedavra_ is a buzz to use, a real kick, better than sex or "recreational potions", but before he can find the right words, his Intruder Charm tells him that he has an uninvited visitor, and for a moment he almost panics, his heart starts to turn to ice in his chest - then he gets a grip, thinks, it's not _Him_, it's a witch, and how many witches know where I live, anyway? It can only be Narcissa ...

Thank Merlin, Harry's brought his invisibility cloak and his wand downstairs with him – the boy is finally learning the importance of constant vigilance – so he gestures to Harry to throw the cloak over himself and slide behind the couch, leaves the wine bottle and glasses where they are ... he'll get rid of Narcissa as quickly as he can, he'll tell her that he already has company, feminine company, she'll believe that because the Dark Lord's favourite can have his pick of the young female camp-followers ... and opens the door, but it's not the blonde sister, it's the dark one.

For a moment he has to struggle to hide his fear, but although Bellatrix is not unskilled in Occlumency she's not even trying to hide her thoughts, and she has no orders, this is all her own idea ... the rabid bitch is still fuming over the belting that she got today! Of course she blames _him_, and this might just be the opportunity that he's been looking for, but he'll have to let Bella throw the first hex, because the Dark Lord will want to see this memory, he'll want to know how Bellatrix Lestrange died.

He jerks his neck in the semblance of a bow, steps back to let her enter, and offers her a glass of wine - oh this is just getting better and better, because when Bella sees the wine bottle and the two glasses she turns on him in a fury and demands to know where Narcissa is! He shrugs, if she thinks that her sweet little sister is upstairs in his bed, it might just be enough to push her over the edge ... but it's not really about who's fucking Narcissa Malfoy, is it? It's about who's first in line to kiss the Dark Lord's robes, and now it's coming out, an incoherent torrent of abuse about filthy half-bloods, and she doesn't trust him, she's never trusted him, no half-blood can be trusted ...

He waits until Bellatrix pauses for breath, and then he drops into the silence the names of the members of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, toujours pur, who've been such trustworthy servants of the Dark Lord ... Andromeda, Sirius and Regulus. And the mention of Regulus' name has really pushed Bella's buttons, there's fear as well as rage and hate in the expression on her gaunt face, now she's pulling out her wand – and he whips out his own wand, feeling a sense of fierce joy, because he's been spoiling for this fight for a long, long time.

And when he looks into Bella's eyes and sees the curse that Bella is planning to use, he's amused at how limited her palette of pain is – it's _crucio_, always _crucio_ with Bella – and he thinks, I know a Shield Charm strong enough to bounce it right back on you, oh yes Bella, you're going to be in every kind of trouble if you try to use the Cruciatus Curse on me!

Bella raises her wand and screams her curse, he throws up the shield - there's a deep, gong-like note, and Bella is lifted off her feet by the force of the deflected spell, and slammed against the wall. As she slides down it to the floor he scoops up the wand that she's dropped and steps forward, his wand pointed at her chest - it's his turn now, and he's going to give her a taste of her own medicine, hold her under the Cruciatus Curse until she vomits blood, until she _drowns_ in her own blood ... and no one is going to interfere, let her scream as much as she likes, in a rough area like Spinner's End no one is going to call the Muggle police if they hear a few screams.

Bella is screaming her guts out alright, because time and space matter in magic and at this range the spell is causing muscle spasms powerful enough to crack a rib ... and Harry Potter is watching, let him see what the Cruciatus Curse can do, if you really _want_ to cause pain, if you _enjoy_ it, yes, Harry Potter can watch while Bella dies the hard way - and then he has a better idea, he'll do what he always does when he's breaking in the new recruits, he'll step back and let Harry finish the job. It will mean lying to the Dark Lord, but he can do that, if he can lie to the Dark Lord about what happened on the Astronomy Tower, he can lie to the Dark Lord about _this_.

And Harry must have the same idea, because Harry has thrown off the invisibility cloak, Harry is shouting at him to stop - so he lowers his wand and stands aside, but he doesn't take his eyes off the woman lying on the floor, because while Bella may be down she's not out, and even without a wand she's dangerous ...

But at the sight of the Boy Who Lived, Bella doesn't look surprised, or even afraid, she looks triumphant, and he can see in her eyes that she's thrilled at this proof of his treachery, bloody unbelievable, the fanatical bitch will die happy knowing that she's the Dark Lord's most loyal, most faithful servant ...

But Harry isn't doing anything, he hasn't raised his wand - and Bella is practically begging for it, she's needling Harry in her mocking baby voice, asking Harry what's wrong with him, hasn't the little bitty baby Potter got the guts to make an easy kill?

Now Bellatrix is looking at him, the stupid cow has, as usual, put two and two together and come up with four and a half, she thinks he's chosen a new master because of the prophecy, that he's thrown in his lot with Harry Potter because he's _afraid_, because the child of the prophecy will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord! And the bitch is _laughing_ at him, "You've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able ..."

Harry's face is white, he looks like he's fighting down the urge to shout, or to vomit - but now he's setting his jaw and raising his wand, and there's a look of hatred and revulsion on the boy's face … and then he knows what he has to do, what the Headmaster would want him to do - because when the time comes to fulfil the prophecy Harry Potter won't need the Unforgivable Curses, Harry will have_ power the Dark Lord knows not_ - and before Bella can finish the sentence, the jet of green light shoots from the end of his wand and hits her squarely in the chest.

He knows that she's gone, she can't hear him, but he still needs to say it, he still needs to put his chaotic, confused thoughts into words - for his own sake and for Harry's - so he pushes away the euphoric pleasure of having destroyed yet another one of his enemies, bends over the body and tells her, calmly, "The Chosen One will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and he doesn't need to soil his hands with filth like _you_, Bellatrix Lestrange."

_The Grim Squeaker is borrowed, with thanks, from BAGGE's wonderful "Scabber's Death and other stories". _


	2. Harry Potter

**His most loyal, his most faithful servant**

**Chapter 2: Harry Potter**

He'd been back in that dark, curtained room lit by a single branch of candles again, although this time he'd been alone, there'd been no wretched Rookwood grovelling and snivelling at his feet - just the black raven chained to its perch. He'd reached out a pale, long-fingered hand to the bird and watched as it flapped and struggled to keep out of his reach, as it bated its wings frantically, fluttered desperately at the end of the taut chain until it was exhausted, until it hung in the air limp and helpless, dangling upside down from the perch, its glossy black plumage rumpled and the third eyelid drawn over its eyes so that they looked milky and blind – and the beak gaping open, gasping for breath.

The raven looked half-dead, but he'd known that it was only sulking, it could hear every word that he said – so he'd leaned across and hissed into its ear, hissed words that he'd known would hurt more than _crucio_, "I'd wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus ... "

But he wasn't going to let it die yet - the miserable creature hadn't suffered enough for its wickedness, its presumption in attempting to deceive the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen - so he'd flicked his wand and dropped the raven back onto its perch. _Wingardium Leviosa_, swish and flick, such a simple spell, and still one of the spells taught in the first year Charms class at Hogwarts, where, ha, we never use Transfiguration as a punishment, we give detentions or speak to the offender's Head of House!

And then he'd woken, panicked, breathless, and covered in icy sweat – because what if Voldemort isn't using Occlumency against him any more, what if Voldemort is tormenting him, letting him into his mind, _showing_ him things? He'd rubbed frantically at his forehead, but his scar wasn't prickling and tingling, it had only been a nightmare, an ordinary nightmare, Voldemort hasn't found out that his favourite is Dumbledore's man, through and through ... and he'd remembered Bellatrix Lestrange taunting him in the Department of Mysteries, _the little baby woke up fwightened and fort what it dweamed was twoo _...

But he'd been all foggy and confused from the dream, and for a minute he didn't know where he was, and then he'd heard Ron's quiet, regular breathing coming from the squashy purple sleeping bag on the floor, and remembered – they'd tossed a Knut for the bed, and Ron had lost ...

And Hedwig was sitting quietly in her cage – he'd reached across and poked his fingers through the bars, but she hadn't quite forgiven him yet for sending Pig with the message to Remus, so she'd given him a sharp nip ... he'd murmured an apology, but it was the right decision, because how noticeable would a pure white Snowy Owl be in this kind of grimy Muggle area?

Then he'd lain in the dark for a while, fingering the heavy locket that hung around his neck and thinking, _the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal_, I know what that means now, I know what the Horcruxes are – the diary, the ring, the locket, the cup, the snake, and me. The diary and the ring have been destroyed, we've got the locket, we know where to find Nagini – she's always at Voldemort's side – all we need now is Helga Hufflepuff's cup. And Snape will get that information for me, he'll kill Bellatrix as soon as he can without losing Voldemort's favour, that's always been part of Dumbledore's plan ... Snape is just waiting for the right moment, and I hope that it's _soon_, because I can't take much more of this, hiding and skulking and hearing about people I know being tortured and murdered - people like Mad-Eye Moody ...

Snape hadn't given him any details, but he didn't need to be told that Bellatrix Lestrange had used the Cruciatus Curse on Mad-Eye, because Bellatrix really _wants_ to cause pain, she _enjoys_ it, and she must have tortured Mad-Eye into madness and then death. But there's nothing he can do about it - he's like Sirius, trapped at Grimmauld Place, unable to do anything useful until the Horcruxes have been destroyed. He can't join in the fighting, because he's the Chosen One and he can't let anything get between him and fulfilling the prophecy, not even the people he loves.

He'd been an idiot to think that he could save Ginny and her family from Voldemort just by pushing her away, just by refusing the invitation to Bill and Fleur's wedding, because Voldemort had sent Bellatrix Lestrange to set the Dark Mark flying over the Burrow as a message to the whole of the wizarding world: friendship with Harry Potter is dangerous, friendship with Harry Potter will get you killed. And he'd been an even bigger idiot to think that Hermione would be safe in the Muggle world, because how hard is it to track down a couple of dentists named Granger? All you have to do is ring the British Dental Association and ask!

He'd known that the Dursleys would be a target, and he'd warned them to get out of England before he turned seventeen, before he came of age and Number 4 Privet Drive ceased to be a sanctuary, but why hadn't he realised that everyone connected with him was in danger? Why hadn't he realised that when the Death Eaters came to Little Whinging, it wouldn't be just to burn Privet Drive to the ground? The Muggle newspapers had been full of it, a crime wave in respectable, middle-class Surrey - an arson attack and an old age pensioner brutally murdered in the one night, and within two streets of each other! And the Muggle newspapers weren't like the _Daily Prophet_, they didn't leave out any of the nasty details - and those had been really upsetting. He'd been disgusted with himself, how pathetic, getting all choked up over a lot of stupid cats, but why did Bellatrix Lestrange have to torture old Mrs Figg's cats? They were only cats, for Merlin's sake!

Then he'd looked at the glowing numbers on his Muggle watch, it was the middle of the night, hours yet before dawn, he couldn't sleep – and he needed to go to the bathroom, anyway. So he'd got out of bed, picked up his Invisibility Cloak and his wand – Snape was a bigger nag about constant vigilance than even Mad-Eye Moody had been – sneaked past the door of the bedroom where Ginny and Hermione were sleeping, and slipped into the bathroom at the top of the stairs.

When he'd come out of the bathroom he'd heard the sound of the television coming, faintly, from the sitting room - and on impulse he'd gone downstairs and found Snape lounging in the scruffy old armchair, with the dregs of a bottle of firewhisky and an overflowing ashtray on the rickety table beside him. Snape had changed out of his robes into the Muggle gear that suits him so well, and he'd felt ridiculously self-conscious in his tatty undersized pyjamas - he'd used a Shrinking Charm on a pair of Dudley's pyjamas, he'd overdone it a bit and they'd wound up a size too small – but he'd stood in the doorway, mumbling something about _can't sleep_ and _if you don't mind_, and Snape hadn't growled at him, so he'd come into the room and perched on the edge of threadbare couch.

It was kind of weird, watching TV in that dingy little room lined with Dark Arts books, but it was better than lying awake in his bed, stewing over Bellatrix Lestrange and that creepy dream ... a really horrible dream, because there are plenty of words that hurt more than _crucio_, words like "coward". He'd remembered the words he'd shouted at Snape, _kill me like you killed him, you coward_, and the look on Snape's face - demented, inhuman, agonised – and the memory had made him wince. He knows now that whatever Snape is, he isn't a coward, because how much courage does it take to lie to Voldemort, how much courage does it take to look into those pitiless red snake eyes and let him into your mind, let him in but not show him everything?

So he'd sat there, pretending to watch TV and feeling really rotten - he'd been just about to get up and go back to bed when Snape had flicked his wand and Summoned a bottle of wine, and it would have been rude to refuse the glass that Snape offered him. He'd sipped from his glass, cautiously at first, but it was rather good stuff – much nicer than firewhisky - and then he'd started to feel sleepy and relaxed. The Muggle TV flickering away in the corner was a pleasant distraction from the wizarding world, for once he could forget that he's fated to be Voldemort's executioner – or to die at his hands - and he'd felt safe. Of course it's an illusion, he'll never be safe while Voldemort lives, but he can lower his guard for a minute when Snape is around, because Severus Snape would rather die than betray him.

And then Snape leans forward, catches his eye, pours him another glass of wine – and reminds him that he can never get away from the prophecy, that before he was born he was destined to kill or be killed ...

Snape is asking him what he knows of the theoretical basis of the Killing Curse, he shakes his head, Mad-Eye had told him, bluntly, that Dumbledore didn't want him taught the Unforgivables, and he hadn't argued ... and now Snape is telling him, "The Killing Curse is comparable to the Patronus Charm. The Patronus requires you to concentrate on a single, very happy memory, and conversely, the _Avada Kedavra_ requires you to concentrate on a memory that inspires hate and anger, to _focus_ such a memory. You really need to mean it, you must really want to kill."

And that makes sense, it isn't enough just to point your wand and say the words ... _Avada Kedavra_ is like any other powerful spell, it needs training, it needs practice – and his stomach is flipping at the thought of the kind of practice that the Killing Curse requires, will Snape expect him to practice on helpless animals?

He remembers Remus teaching him to produce a Patronus, it had taken him a while to find the right memory, the memory powerful enough for the charm, but he hasn't got that problem now. There's plenty to choose from - his mother pleading, "_Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything_ ...", Cedric Diggory whispering, "Take my body back, will you? Take my body back to my parents ...", the look of fear and surprise on Sirius' wasted face as he sinks through the ragged veil hanging from the archway ...

But why didn't Dumbledore want him taught the Killing Curse? Dumbledore must have known that he'd need it, dealing with Voldemort isn't going to be a wizards' duel, _cast your first spells on the count of three_, it's going to be a dirty, messy job – he's going to need every spell known to Voldemort, he's going to have to turn his own weapons against Voldemort, and Voldemort has handed him plenty of those, Voldemort has handed him plenty of deadly memories ... Sure, he'll have _power the Dark Lord knows not_, but there's no sign of that yet, and he's got to start somewhere! And it can't be love - love is a weakness, not a weapon, Voldemort will use the people he cares about to get to him, to lure him into a trap ... he'd been ready to hand over the prophecy to Lucius Malfoy in the Department of Mysteries to save Neville from torture, and that's a mistake he can never allow himself to make again.

Then Snape leaps to his feet, tells him that someone is coming, gestures to him to throw the Invisibility Cloak over himself and slide behind the couch, and he does as he's told, even though he hates it, skulking and hiding again while someone else does the fighting.

There's a tap at the door ... Snape opens it, he can see through the open door, it's Bellatrix Lestrange - and for a moment his heart stops - Ginny, Hermione and Ron are asleep upstairs, he's got to warn them, there's still a chance they can all get away, if Severus can hold off the Death Eaters for just a few minutes ...

But Bellatrix is alone, and Snape seems completely at ease - he jerks his neck in the mocking semblance of a bow, steps back to let Bellatrix enter, and offers her a glass of wine, but she turns on Snape in a fury and demands to know where Narcissa is! He's puzzled, why would Bellatrix think that Draco's mum would be at Spinner's End? Why would Bellatrix think that her sister would be visiting Snape in the middle of the night?

And now Bellatrix is shouting at Snape, the same kind of rubbish she'd shouted at him in the Hall of Prophecy, _a half-blood is just one step up from a filthy Mudblood, how dare you besmirch the Dark Lord's robes with your unworthy lips_ ... and she doesn't trust Snape, she's never trusted him, no half-blood can be trusted!

Snape waits until Bellatrix pauses for breath, and then he says, silkily, of course only pure-bloods can be trusted, only pure-bloods are worthy to serve the Dark Lord – pure-bloods like Andromeda, Sirius and Regulus Black ...

The mention of Regulus' name seems to frighten Bellatrix, there's fear as well as rage and hate in the expression on her gaunt face, now she's pulling out her wand – and Snape whips out his wand, they're going to duel, there's going to be a tremendous battle ...

He crouches lower behind the couch, but it's over in seconds, Bellatrix raises her wand and screams her curse but in the same moment Snape throws up a silver shield - there's a deep, gong-like note, and Bellatrix is lifted off her feet by the force of the deflected spell and slammed into the wall.

As Bellatrix slides down the wall to the floor Snape scoops up the wand that she's dropped and steps forward, Snape's wand is pointed at her chest – Bellatrix is writhing and screaming, ear-splitting screams, it's horrible, he wants it to stop but he's paralysed, he can't move - and now blood is gushing out of her mouth, she's choking in her own blood, making ghastly bubbling noises, and at last he finds his voice.

He throws off the Invisibility Cloak, scrambles out from behind the couch, shouts at Snape to stop - and Snape obediently lowers his wand and stands aside.

He stands there, thinking, Bellatrix has to die, that was always part of Dumbledore's plan, but if it has to be done, let it be done quickly, the _Avada Kedavra_ is quick, and maybe even painless ...

Snape is looking at him, waiting for orders, and then he understands – he's got to do this himself, and he thinks, _I've got to do this, I told Dumbledore that I'll make sure I take as many Death Eaters with me as I can ... I've got to do this, and Voldemort has killed enough people to make an army of Inferi, I've never even killed one ..._

But he can't do it, this isn't a duel, his opponent is disarmed, she's lying helpless and bleeding on the floor ... it's murder, not a fair fight ...

He can't raise his wand - and Bellatrix is needling him in her mocking baby voice, asking him what's wrong with him, hasn't the little bitty baby Potter got the guts to make an easy kill?

He feels like he's struggling not to shout, or to vomit, but he's sworn that he'll do whatever it takes to fulfil the prophecy, he can't shrink from this – and Bellatrix is an evil bitch, she deserves to die, it's not murder, it's execution ...

Now Bellatrix is looking at Snape, laughing at him, "You've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able ..."

He raises his wand and focuses on his worst memory, Dumbledore being blasted into the air, Dumbledore hanging suspended beneath the Morsmordre, and then falling slowly backwards over the battlements like a great rag doll - and maybe love _is_ a weapon, because he can feel all the love he'd felt for Dumbledore, for Sirius, and for his parents turning into hatred; he can feel a tremendous burst of magical energy surging through every particle of his body, and it's going to be easy to say the words that will stop Bellatrix Lestrange's heart, it's going to be a pleasure to destroy one of his enemies ...

But before he can say the words, before he can cast the spell, a jet of green light shoots from the end of Snape's wand and hits Bellatrix squarely in the chest. He's astonished, and then for a moment he's angry, how dare a servant raise his wand in the presence of his master without orders ...

And then he realises that he's shaking so much he can barely stand and his scar is burning, what the hell is going on? And Snape is bending over the body, saying something – and he knows the words aren't meant for Bellatrix, they're meant for him - "The Chosen One will have power the Dark Lord knows not, and he doesn't need to soil his hands with filth like you, Bellatrix Lestrange."


	3. Bellatrix Lestrange

**His most loyal, his most faithful servant**

**Chapter 3: Bellatrix Lestrange**

In the privacy of her room, behind the barrier of an Imperturbable Charm, she'd wept bitter tears of misery - because she'd disappointed the Dark Lord, she'd angered him, but it's not the pain, it's the humiliation of public punishment that really hurts. It hurts that the Dark Lord had lost his temper with _her_, his most loyal, most faithful servant - the only one entrusted with the secrets of the Horcruxes. But it was some consolation to know that while she lives the Dark Lord won't share those precious secrets with another servant, not even with Snape, so eventually she'd drifted off to sleep - but she'd had some kind of unpleasant dream about the Dark Lord and the two half-bloods, Potter and Snape, and a very unpleasant dream it was, too, because somehow they'd all become mixed up together. She'd woken feeling foggy and confused, and all she could remember was the foul slander that had spewed from Potter's unworthy lips in the Hall of Prophecy, _his dad was a Muggle – or has he been t__elling you lot he's pure-blood? _A blasphemous lie, and one that she'd never repeat – and the others, the ones who'd been captured in the Department of Mysteries, would do better never to repeat it, either, now that they're out of Azkaban.

Azkaban! Even without the Dementors, Azkaban is a horrible place, and she'd risked Azkaban again, too, she'd duelled against half the Order that night, while Snape kept well out of it, and how could he have allowed Potter to bring all his nasty little friends with him, wasn't that his job – to keep an eye on Potter? And what did Snape say, _you weren't a lot of use to him in prison, but_ _the gesture was undoubtedly fine!_ Oh, she'd nearly hexed the loathsome half-blood when he'd said that, because only someone who's never spent a day in Azkaban could think that fourteen years in the place is a gesture!

And the worst of it was that the cringing little rat Animagus had cheated her of the honour of restoring the Dark Lord to a body - if only she'd been the one to give the flesh of the servant, willingly given, she would have been dearer to the Dark Lord than a daughter, and Snape would never have been able to come between them! But surely the Dark Lord will never forget that she was the only one who tried to find him when he fell? And if Frank and Alice Longbottom had known where the Dark Lord was, she would have made them talk, and she would have made Alastor Moody talk, too – if she'd been given the chance. But Snape had cheated her of that, he'd thrust himself forward, interfered, taken all the credit, in exactly the same way that he'd cheated Draco out of the glory of killing Dumbledore ...

Lying alone in the dark – their marriage had been well and truly over even before Rodolphus went back to Azkaban, and now he's amusing himself with one of the young female camp-followers, not that she cares, she's not like Cissy, she doesn't need a man to take care of her – she'd brooded over what had happened on the Astronomy Tower. Draco had done all the work, he'd got Death Eaters into Hogwarts when even the Dark Lord had thought it impossible, and Snape hadn't even fought against the Order – he'd come in at the end, when Dumbledore was disarmed, helpless, an easy kill! And Draco could have done it, Draco _would_ have done it, if Snape had given him a chance, but Snape had pushed Draco aside - the cunning opportunist had killed a broken-down old man, and now he's basking in the Dark Lord's favour! And the Dark Lord doesn't seem to care that his favourite is a lowly half-blood, he seems to find it amusing, he calls Snape _my little half-blood_ ...

And today the filthy half-blood had pushed her aside, just as he'd pushed Draco aside – he'd taken over the interrogation of Moody just as Moody was about to talk – and how dare he make those sneering references to the Longbottoms! She'd got nothing out of them only because they had nothing to tell ... and Snape should be ashamed to mention them, anyway.

She'd remembered Alice Longbottom, the son is the spitting image of his mother, it's astonishing that she hadn't recognised the boy at once in the Department of Mysteries, and Snape hadn't fancied plain, plump, round-faced Alice - no, it was the red-haired Mudblood that he'd lusted after. If the Dark Lord had chosen the Longbottoms' child, Alice wouldn't have had the choice to die for her son, the Dark Lord would never have hesitated, he'd have killed the mother as well as the child - but the Dark Lord had been minded to spare Lily Evans because he'd promised the Mudblood witch to Snape as his reward for bringing the news of the prophecy.

When she was in Azkaban she'd blamed Pettigrew for the Dark Lord's fall, she'd thought that the rat was a double-agent, that he'd led the Dark Lord into a trap, but now she knows better, she knows that it was all Snape's fault, because if Snape hadn't wanted James Potter's wife as his plaything, Harry Potter would have died that night and the Dark Lord would be ruling now - and why Snape has never been punished for that, she can't understand.

Harry Potter, the only remaining obstacle between the Dark Lord and his rightful place as lord of the whole of the wizarding world – according to the prophecy Harry Potter will have _the power to vanquish the Dark Lord_, but she'd seen no sign of that in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic. The boy's Cruciatus Curse had been pitiful, and he hadn't even attempted the Killing Curse against Snape during the flight from Hogwarts! Well, it's her job to hunt down Harry Potter and bring him to the Dark Lord, and she _will_ succeed.

But it's galling to think of how little progress she's made, her visit to Little Whinging hadn't been a success - not that she expected to find Potter at Privet Drive, the boy is not unintelligent and he must have known that he wouldn't be safe there from the Dark Lord one minute after he came of age – but her orders had been to kill every living thing in the house and set the Dark Mark flying over it, and she'd been foiled. The place had been deserted ... and the old Squib had known nothing, not even where the Muggle relatives had fled to.

The raid on the Weasley wedding is another painful memory - she'd burned the Burrow to the ground, but the guests had included the entire Order of the Phoenix and half the Auror Corps, including some of the Azkaban garrison who'd been given leave to attend. The fighting had been vicious, they'd suffered heavy casualties and the Dark Lord had not been pleased.

And it burns to think that her loss had been Snape's gain, because the attack on the Burrow had been timed to coincide with the raid on Azkaban, a double blow against the Ministry and the Order. Oh, she'd made it easy for Snape, she'd done all the heavy lifting – she'd cleared the way for his triumph at Azkaban, and Snape had been rewarded for that! The Dark Lord had promised the half-blood everything that had belonged to Lucius - but surely that doesn't include Narcissa, because what kind of a pure-blood witch would lower herself to mate with a Muggle, or the spawn of a filthy Muggle?

Then she'd remembered the shame that Andromeda had brought on the family, she'd fought her sister's half-caste brat in the Department of Mysteries, she'd fought with her again at the Burrow, but she hadn't managed to kill the little bitch. It's some comfort that she'd killed the blood-traitor Sirius, and she would gladly have killed Regulus, too, but Snape had cheated her of that pleasure, the Dark Lord had given Snape the job of executing Regulus.

Stupid, weak, unworthy Regulus, he'd taken the Dark Mark and then he'd turned against the Dark Lord - not that Regulus had lasted long, the Dark Lord had known that he'd turned traitor. And what a fool Regulus must have been, he knew that the Dark Lord is the greatest wizard, the most accomplished Legilimens the world has ever seen, didn't he realize that the Dark Lord can't be deceived?

She'd repeated to herself, _the Dark Lord can't be deceived_, but she'd known that they were empty words, the Dark Lord had sent Snape to spy on Dumbledore because he was a master of Occulumency ... and she'd didn't trust Snape, oh, he's inveigled his way into the Dark Lord's favour, but she'll never trust him, she'd never trust the loyalty of a half-blood!

She'd wondered, not for the first time, did Snape hear only the first few words of the prophecy? Because in all his years at Hogwarts, he'd never raised a finger against Harry Potter ... he'd claimed that he feared to touch the boy while he was under Dumbledore's protection, and she could believe that, the coward had never dared to raise wand or hand against Dumbledore until Draco found a way to bring Death Eaters into Hogwarts, but Snape had done nothing to hurt Potter on the night that Dumbledore died. It is forbidden to kill the Boy Who Lived, the child of the prophecy is for the Dark Lord alone, but Snape had the chance then to really do some damage to the boy – but he'd done nothing, _nothing _...

She hadn't believed Snape's story that he'd thought Potter could be a great Dark wizard – but now she wonders whether there could have been some grain of truth in his lies. Does Snape know something about Potter, something he'd dared to keep from the Dark Lord? Could he be keeping his options open, could he be secretly in contact with Potter? And if she can bring proof of his disloyalty to the Dark Lord ...

So although it was completely, utterly insane, she'd got out of bed, dressed in her robes, and Apparated to that stinking river bank, because she couldn't live with her feverish suspicions a moment longer. And the long walk up through the Muggle slums had done nothing to cool her blood, she'd taken one or two wrong turnings, but she'd remembered the street, Spinner's End, and now she's tapping on the door of the squalid Muggle hovel he lives in, and he's not happy to see her, is he? There's a flicker of fear on his face, is he hiding something?

She walks through the door, looks contemptuously around the dingy little sitting-room, how he wallows in his Muggle filth – Snape is not even wearing robes, and he's been watching that flickering box that so fascinates Muggles, _disgusting_ - and then she sees the wine bottle and the two glasses. For a moment she's amused, because she's obviously interrupted some sordid little intrigue, he must have packed the girl off upstairs when he heard her knock – and then she realises who it must be, and she's enraged, because Cissy has lost no time getting into bed with Lucius' replacement as the Dark Lord's right-hand man!

She demands to know where Narcissa is, she'll hex her sister for this, because this isn't just about family honour, this is an unforgivable personal betrayal ... and then it's as if a dam has been breached, she's completely out of control, she can't restrain herself any longer, she's shouting at Snape, _a half-blood is just one step up from a filthy Mudblood, how __dare you besmirch the Dark Lord's robes with your unworthy lips_ ... and she doesn't trust him, she's never trusted him, no half-blood can be trusted ...

She pauses for breath, he's smirking at her, what's he saying, _of course all pure-bloods can be trusted, look at your own family - Andromeda, Sirius, Regulus_ ... she feels a thrill of fear at the sound of Regulus' name, is Snape threatening her? She'd said too much to Regulus, dropped too many hints about the Horcruxes - and Regulus was a traitor, maybe even a spy for that Muggle-loving old fool Dumbledore. Now she's unnerved, what does Snape know about Regulus? And if the Dark Lord thinks for a minute that she's been careless with his precious secrets ...

And then she knows that the time has come to sort it out between the two of them, once and for all, because she can't let Snape go running to the Dark Lord with a pack of lies about her, and she's not afraid to duel with him, no daughter of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, _toujours pur_, is afraid of a mere half-blood!

She pulls out her wand, feeling a sense of fierce joy, because she's been spoiling for this fight for a long, long time - and Snape is whipping out his own wand, he's going to make a duel of it, excellent, because the Dark Lord will want to see this memory, the Dark Lord will want to know how Severus Snape died ... and she's going to give Snape a traitor's death, she's going to kill him the way that he killed Regulus, use the Cruciatus Curse to hurt Snape so much that the convulsions will break bones, rupture internal organs, and made blood pour out of every orifice.

But something goes terribly wrong, the curse rebounds on her, the force of her own spell slams her against the wall - and it feels as if her very bones are on fire, her eyes are rolling madly in her head, the _crucio_ hurts so much, the pain is so intense, so all-consuming, that she just wants it to end ... and she's not even aware that she's screaming.

Then the unbearable pain of the Cruciatus Curse is gone, replaced by the relatively trivial pain of half a dozen cracked ribs, someone is shouting _stop_, and she can taste blood in her mouth, she's lying on the floor, shaking uncontrollably with the after-effects of the curse and looking up through a kind of mist at Snape ... and there's someone else in the room, a youth with unruly black hair and green eyes – Potter? And then she _knows_, and the knowledge is sweet, because she's been right about Snape, the filthy half-blood is a traitor!

But Potter isn't doing anything, he hasn't raised his wand ... what's wrong with him, hasn't the little bitty baby Potter got the guts to make an easy kill?

Potter's face is white, he looks like he's fighting down the urge to shout, or to vomit, his wand is trembling in his hand – it's laughable to think that this is the boy who will have the power to vanquish the Dark Lord! And this ridiculous child in flannel pyjamas a size too small for him is the so-called Chosen One!

She twists her neck, looks at Snape, so this is the master that he's chosen, what an idiot, Snape has betrayed the Dark Lord for the sake of a gormless teenager who hasn't the nerve or the ability to cast an Unforgivable Curse! And Snape is looking dismayed, he's looking afraid, he's beginning to realise the mistake he's made ...

She laughs at him, "You've got a problem, Snape, the boy doesn't seem able ...", but before she can even finish the sentence, before she can say, triumphantly, "You're going to have to do it yourself, Snape," the blast of green light hits her squarely in the chest.


End file.
